Murder House
by ayozach
Summary: Stiles has big plans to get big, strong Derek back after he helped Scott pull a birthday prank on him. Let's just say that it involves a place called the Belmost Murder House on the outskirts of Beacon Hills and Stiles-type revenge on Derek.


**If you enjoy my writing, please consider getting my full-length YA dystopia/sci-fi novel, _The Black Birds_. Links are in my profile! Also check out my personal blog and teen wolf blog, also in my profile.**

**Hope you enjoy!  
**

* * *

On the outskirts of Beacon Hills, tucked inside the looming forests of pines and junipers, rests a singular structure, abandoned and forgotten by most of the town. The Belmost Murder House has always permeated the fireside discussions of local campers and the drunken conversations of teenagers trying to get a rise out of each other. As the house grew in infamy, it flourished into a local legend; a gauntlet to be braved by the courageous, stupid, or dared teenagers of Beacon Hills.

In fact, in middle school, both Stiles and his best friend, Scott, had been dared by Jackson Whittemore to stay an entire night in the house. Stiles, being the son of Beacon Hills' police chief, had grown up hearing and seeing the grittier side of humanity; Scott hadn't been as excited to venture into the rundown ghost house, but with an over-enthused Stiles beside him, and a scrutinizing Jackson behind him, Scott didn't have much of a choice.

Besides a few pranks on Scott from Stiles throughout the night, they completed the task and had full bragging rights for the next few weeks. When asked, Jackson always avoided the question of if he had ever actually even stepped into the Murder House before.

Stiles was actually one of the only teenagers in Beacon Hills who actually knew the real story of the Belmost Murder House; his father had been one of the deputies assisting on the Belmost case after the tragedy. Of course, his father had never actually told him the story, but with a bit of snooping, which Stiles had become a pro at over the years, he found the case file and studied it meticulously. Stuff like that had always interested him, despite his best friend's distaste for violence and gore.

Throughout the years, the story had been twisted and warped to resemble urban legends of doorways to hell and ghost butchers hiding under the floorboards. The real story was much simpler, but even more brutal than what most teenagers could craft in their doped-out minds. Twenty-five years ago, Mr. and Mrs. Belmost had been regular members of the Beacon Hills community; they attended all Beacon Hills social functions and worked right within the town, owning a local butchery and deli. However, the Belmosts kept a dark secret within their relatively-stately home on the outskirts of town. They had a daughter, who had been labeled in the report as 'troubled,' but had never actually been diagnosed. The Belmosts kept their 'troubled' daughter, Samantha locked within the attic, keeping her entirely separated from society. One night, Samantha, or as she was now known with the confines of urban whispers, Bloody Sammy, murdered both of her parents with a hatchet and then hung herself from the stairwell banister.

It was three days before anyone discovered the bodies. And now the memory of Samantha Belmost was nothing more than a nightmarish specter enslaved by the hushed voices of the Beacon Hills teens.

Now, Stiles stood within the dingy halls of the Belmost Murder House alone. It all seemed so childish to him now that he actually began to chuckle as he remembered Scott almost pissing himself when he started to knock on the underside of the broken table in the living room, pretending he had no clue where the sound was coming from in the echoing manor.

Stiles hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder and gripped the heavy rope in his hand.

The sun filtered in through the dirty windows, glinting off of the storm of dust motes swirling through the air. Stiles wasn't afraid at all; he had become slightly immune to this sort of stuff nowadays, especially with all the madness that had recently come to Beacon Hills and landed straight on his and Scott's doorstep, but he knew one particular sour wolf who still jumped every time they sat down to watch a horror movie. Derek had never truly enjoyed the scary movies Stiles forced him to watch on date nights, but he had come to accept the jump-out scares and the gore, as long as he had Stiles chatting through the entire movie, describing how he would have done things differently or already finished off the villains, and cuddling up close.

Derek had recently assisted Scott in an extremely elaborate birthday prank on Stiles, and though Stiles had long since gotten Scott back, Stiles had been planning something special for Derek. He was going to teach Derek the hard way that his traitorous actions would not go unpunished. Well actually, it was more just a part of Stiles' twisted enjoyment of revenge and his desire to see big, strong Derek piss himself.

Stiles climbed the winding staircase and looked over the banister down at the cold, dusty tile floor three stories below.

He took one end of the rope between his fingers and began to tie a solid knot onto the banister, and then the other end he looped easily into a horror-movie-ready noose.

Tonight, Derek was going to get the scare of his life.

* * *

"So what are you and Derek doing tonight?" Scott asked innocently.

Stiles tore his eyes away from the intense round of Battlefield raging before them to fix a coy smile on Scott. "Depends, are we talking about before or after dinner?"

"Dude! No thanks. Keep that to yourself," Scott returned, catching Stiles' eye for only a minute before they both turned back to the game at hand.

The sound of clicking buttons and clattering joysticks filled Scott's house. His mother was still on her weekend shift at the hospital, leaving the boys alone for the afternoon. Even though he had known it was Stiles' date night today, Scott still wanted to see his best friend before he went into couple-mode, because he knew he probably wouldn't get to see Stiles again until school next week.

"But seriously, do you guys have plans?"

Stiles rocked back and forth, flinging his arms left and right as he moved the joysticks. His tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth in deep concentration. It was at least another 30 seconds before Stiles replied.

"You know…the usual…" Stiles finally answered.

"The usual being what?"

"The usual!" Stiles yelled and tossed his controlled beside him on the couch in defeat.

Scott lowered his slowly to his lap.

"You guys have been…doing whatever you guys are doing for awhile now. Have you guys put a title on it yet?"

"I think we're still working on a title, but I'm rooting for Big Boy and the Man-wolf. I think it has a certain vibe to it…sounds dangerous," Stiles said with a straight face, wiggling his fingers into the air with the final bit.

Scott slid his hand down his face. "Whatever, man."

Noticing that Scott wasn't amused with his answer, Stiles took a deep breath and blew it out his nostrils so they flared slightly. Scott watched him expectantly.

Ever since they were young, Stiles and Scott had told each other everything. It was in eighth grade that Stiles had come out to Scott as bisexual. It had been hard for him, but not because he didn't want people to know, it just took him awhile to figure out exactly what he was feeling and define it all for himself. Scott had stuck by his side during the whole process of telling Papa Stilinski, school friends, and such. However, nothing really came of it right away, not that Scott thought Stiles would instantly start lusting after every guy that walked by, but Stiles was still Stiles, and he still had a huge crush on Lydia Martin. But then, during their sophomore year of high school they met Derek Hale.

He was a tall and slightly terrifying looking guy. He had been a more reserved kind of guy when they had first met him, but as they had all grown closer, especially Stiles and Derek, he began to lighten and open up. They had been through a lot over the past few years, but still they had made it out alive, and Stiles and Derek had made it out together.

"I don't know…I think we are just keeping it casual," Stiles said.

"You basically live at his place on the weekends. It stopped being casual a long time ago, man."

"Yeah…I know, but I'm happy right now and I don't want to do anything to affect that. I'm not sure if Derek is ready to put labels on things yet. He's been through a lot recently and I don't think he is fully back on his A-game."

"Yeah…but," Scott started, but Stiles cut him off.

"He's lost a lot of people, and I don't think he wants to take the next step because he's afriad he might lose more. I think it is a part of his macho-man act, refusing to really show his emotions to anyone. Or something like that."

Scott sat quietly for a few moments. "I kinda feel bad for the guy."

"Well don't," Stiles answered with a grin, "he has me, and I count for a shit-ton."

"Now I feel even worse," Scott said with a warm laugh.

"Shut up!" Stiles laughed back and swung a light punch at Scott's shoulder.

Scott took the hit on his arm and threw one back.

"Another game?" Scott asked, but just as the words left his mouth, Stiles' phone started to ring.

"It's Derek," Stiles said looking down at his phone on the floor. "He's probably waiting outside. Mind if I leave the jeep here?"

Scott was sad to see him go, but now he knew exactly how Stiles had felt back when Allison was still around.

"As long as you leave the keys here."

"Fine," Stiles surrendered, "but I just filled the tank so don't waste it all or you're paying for the next tank!"

Scott held out his hands for the keys. Stiles took them out of his pocket and flung them into Scott's outreached palms, and headed for the door.

"Check you later," Stiles called over his shoulder as he stepped out of the front door.

"Make good choices! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Scott called from the living room.

"Right!"

Stiles closed the door.

* * *

"Hey," Derek said as Stiles slipped into the front seat of Derek's Camaro. Stiles had sat in that car many times before, but it wasn't until recently that he began to wonder how Derek afforded this car and his loft as well, but didn't have a job, though with everything going on, he probably could find the time to fit in a nine-to-five job anyway. Derek actually sat on a pretty sizeable inheritance from his mother, but besides the luxury car purchase, Derek didn't show it, but he also wasn't opposed to spoiling Stiles on their date weekends.

As Stiles clicked in his seat belt and tossed his jacket in the back, Derek leaned over and planted a soft kiss on Stiles' cheek. Derek's stubble scratched his cheek as he pulled away.

"Hey babe," Stiles said, feeling a little tingly from the kiss.

"I was thinking dinner and a movie back at my place tonight?"

"Yes to the dinner, but I've got something a little more exciting planned for us tonight," Stiles returned, trying his best to sound inherently innocently.

"Is this a good exciting or a I'm-going-to-end-up-with-a-bullet-in-my-shoulder-again exciting?"

"Eh, I would say somewhere in between those two," Stiles answered with a huge grin spread across his face.

Derek knew he was up to something, but he knew it would be useless to try to figure it out or convince Stiles otherwise. He had already lost the debate before it had even begun. He always did. There was little he could say no to when it came to Stiles and his ludicrous plans. He would just be pleased if he made it out without any form of injury this time.

"Fine," Derek grumbled and put the car into reverse. Another huge grin spread across Stiles' face. This was going to be too easy. "However, first we are sitting down for a nice dinner before you drag me into whatever crazed scheme you have planned. I have shrimp ready to cook."

"Whatever you want, big boy," Stiles agreed. Derek was quite the cook and there was no way he would turn down a free meal made just for him.

"Please don't call me that."

"Alrighty, sour wolf."

Derek groaned and rolled his eyes. He backed out of Scott's driveway and pulled off down the street like he was being chased by the cops.

Stiles always loved when he drove fast.

* * *

After dinner, which Stiles had completely stuffed himself on, they lazed around for a little while, waiting for darkness to fall. Stiles insisted that it had to be night before they went on their quest, which he had taken to calling it while shoveling Derek's homemade shrimp scampi into his mouth. Derek tried to get more information about this 'quest,' but Stiles wouldn't give in or reveal anything. Derek only got muffled nonsensical responses from Stiles through a mouthful of breadsticks.

Derek kept asking himself why he was so enamored with this boy as he watched him scarf down food, but he knew the answer already. Stiles was full of a certain light and energy that warmed Derek all the way through. Stiles' smile was like a blue break in a dark sky. Derek could watch him eat and laugh, spitting chunks of food around the table, for days straight. Stiles was different from anyone else he had ever now.

Instead of trying to pry anymore from Stiles, Derek decided just to enjoy the moments of certainty before he plunged into Stiles' scheme. After dinner, Stiles cleared the table, while Derek started to wash dishes; he had never gone out to buy a dishwasher for his loft, because it was normally only him alone in the loft, except for when Stiles visited, or his uncle, Peter, stopped in unannounced to crash on the couch.

In fact, it was just that kind of occasion tonight. After they had cleaned up dinner, Derek carried Stiles over to the couch and laid him down softly, their lips pressed together as he rested himself on top of Stiles' warm, squirming body.

Derek's arms were caught under Stiles, but he didn't try to pull them away; he used them to pull Stiles in tighter to him. Somehow, Stiles had already pulled his own shirt off, though Derek hadn't even noticed; he didn't think their lips had ever even parted, but there he was, laying shirtless, pale with constellations of moles scattered around his chest and shoulders. His stomach lifted and dropped against Derek's own. Derek pulled away to take it all in. Stiles grinned up at him and motioned at the white shirt still covering his chest.

Derek tore it off quickly and pressed his own skin against Stiles'. Their lips met again, this time pressing harder, hungrier for the taste of each other. Derek could still taste his home-cooked meal on Stiles' tongue.

Stiles had a signature move during kissing that always set Derek off. First he would hide his tongue away from Derek's, but as soon as Derek went searching for it, Stiles would run his own tongue across Derek's and deep into his mouth, while moaning into his lips; he would then pull away with Derek's lip caught softly between his teeth.

Derek was going to lose it; he ran his fingers down Stiles' body, feeling every mole, and every bone through his angelic skin, until he found his hand resting on the warm area of skin below his belly button. Stiles went for his neck with moist lips and a little bit of teeth. Derek knew he would have a mark from it, he always did, but he actually liked the idea of being marked by the one he lov––the one he felt closest to.

The sun sank past the tops of the buildings outside. A fiery light pushed through the windows of Derek's loft, illuminating the two bodies coiled together. As the light faded, it morphed into a purple, pink glow that reached into the loft, but could barely light the room, which grew dark, but neither minded or noticed. They had become so familiar with each other's bodies and motions that they didn't need to see where the other was guiding them to. They just knew by the way the other breathed and moved their hands and pressed their body tighter.

Derek was breathing hard now. Stiles had lifted his back off the couch, clinging to Derek's neck to pull himself in closer; he licked his way up to Derek's ear and nibbled playfully on it. One of Derek's hands rested on the back of Stiles' head, while the other made circles around his stomach.

Then Derek slipped his hand under the waist of Stiles' jeans and into his boxer-briefs. Stiles moaned again, this time into his ear. Derek felt pins and needles surge through his body, followed by a heat that made the room feel like it had jumped in degrees.

Stiles felt the same tingle and heat flood through his body, starting at where Derek had his hands and flowing to the rest of his body.

"Derek! Hey, Derek, you here? Something smells good, did you make dinner––"

The lights in the loft burst to life in a blinding flurry. The room was lit fully, exposing the two half naked bodies stilled wrapped around each other on the couch.

Derek's uncle, Peter, stood on the stairs leading down into the loft, staring at the two on the couch, like he had just come across some horrifying alien species.

"Well, I can see you have already moved on to dessert…I'll just…see myself out for a little?" Peter held his hands up and started to back away toward the door.

"Peter, hold up," Derek sighed. He tried to slip his hand out of Stile's pants without Peter noticing. Peter definitely noticed, though he was staring up toward the ceiling.

Stiles couldn't help but laugh at the situation; it was just the kind of guy he was. Instead of feeling awkward himself, he enjoyed putting others in awkward situations and laughing at their reactions. He tried to stifle his chuckle.

"I can just come back…later…or you know…never," Peter continued to back toward the door until he was pressed against it.

Stiles never truly understood Derek and Peter's relationship: one minute they were like best friends or brothers, and the next moment they were betraying each other and at the other's throat, sometime literally. Stiles wasn't particularly fond of Peter, but he tolerated him and even sometimes found himself laughing at some of Peter's snarky comments toward Derek.

"It's fine, Peter," Stiles started, pushing himself off the couch and looking around for his shirt, which had somehow ended up a few feet away from the couch. "We need to be on our way anyways. Big, exciting plans tonight."

"More exciting than smashing your two underdeveloped bodies together?" Peter asked with sass dripping from his lips.

"Yeah. Big plans, man. Right, Derek?"

"Yeah. So I'm told."

"Right! So off we go!" Stiles cried, flinging Derek's shirt at him.

After he had pulled his shirt back over his chest, Stiles started to pull him toward the doorway, passing past Peter and his incredulous look. Peter made a show of keeping his distance from the two.

"Oh and by the way, there is nothing underdeveloped about Derek's body. Take my word for it, old man," Stiles chirped as he stepped into the hallway outside the loft. He gave the stunned and disgusted Peter a wink before he slid the door closed. Derek was blushing a deep shade of red.

"Old man?" Peter repeated. "I'm only a few years older than Derek! Oh, and I'm not sleeping on that couch tonight!" Peter called after them. "Though I'm sure the bed wouldn't be any better…" Peter made a gagging noise and went to the kitchen to search for leftovers.

* * *

"Stiles, where the hell are you taking me?" Derek asked bewildered as Stiles led him along a dirt path toward the forest.

Stiles made him ditch the car back in a fast food parking lot closest to the road that led to the Murder House. Over the past few years, Beacon Hills had become a bit more dangerous than it had been when Stiles was younger, but since Stiles had often had to deal with some of the less normal and shady elements of Beacon Hills, he wasn't even thinking of the dangers of wondering around the outskirts of town after the sun went down. He was too focused on the task at hand.

And besides all that, he had big, strong Derek with him. No one would try to screw with them when Derek wore his I-can't-hit-Stiles-so-I'll-hit-the-next-person-that-does-me-wrong face.

It was time to set the plan into action.

"Well, since you didn't know me, or Scott for that matter, when we were younger, I thought I would take you to a place that holds a certain special place in my heart."

"Yeah? Okay." Derek was expecting to be brought into the woods and shown a dead body or something ridiculous like that, but Stiles was actually being sweet. This was something people who were in relationships did. Derek had an itch that something was slightly off. Stiles was never very sentimental. He lived in the now.

"It's called The Belmost Murder House," Stiles said lightly.

"So much for that," Derek sighed under his breath.

"So much for what?" Stiles asked, turning to look at Derek as they kept walking.

"Nothing. Nothing," Derek insisted. He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up. "Only you, Stiles, would keep a special place in your heart for something called a murder house."

"Hey! I had some good times in that house!"

"I'm honestly not surprised in the least by that," Derek chuckled. "I'm sure it was right up your alley. So is there a story behind this so-called murder house?"

The dirt road they walked along broke into the dark forest. Shadows stretched around them, twisting and fleeing as the two continued on. The moon struggled to push through the coiling tips of the trees overhead, making the patches of moonlight in the forest spotty at best, giving everything a more ghastly look.

_What a perfect night…to scare the piss out of Derek_, Stiles thought to himself as he began to explain the story of the Belmost Murder House to Derek. Stiles continually added in more graphic and grizzly details to the tale as he saw fit. He went on a five minute spiel about the kind of hatchet Bloody Sammy used, the angle she struck her parents at, what limbs she hacked off first, how much blood there was, and all while adding his own sound effects and motions to get the point across.

Derek stared at him unflinchingly.

Stiles realized this might be a little more difficult than he thought it was going to be. But then again, he was only telling the story, everything would probably change when Derek got a look at the actual house.

"And then she took a thick rope and knotted it into a noose. She tied it to the stairwell banister and put it around her neck. She promised that she would kill anyone that stepped foot into the accursed house and jumped. Since that day, several Beacon Hills kids had spotted her watching from the top floor window, noose still around her neck, and some even say she has attacked those who go inside. One of my old friends from middle school says he was pushed down the stairs by Bloody Sammy."

Stiles could tell they were getting close to the house now. He could see the darker shadows of the looming house through the darkness of the trees. It was hard to see if you didn't know what you were looking for, especially at night.

Derek was more focused on Stiles, watching him with skeptical, but curious eyes.

"So let me get this straight. On our date night, you decided to bring me to a haunted house with some pissed off dead girl?"

"Nothing says romance like a little blood and guts," Stiles responded quickly. "Isn't that how we first met anyway?"

"Point taken," Derek said. "Wait, is that it?" Derek pointed ahead of them through the black void at the darkest region of the woods. Stiles should have known he would see it before they got there––Derek having almost animal-like night vision.

The trees parted around them as they walked, opening into a large, flat expanse surrounded by the legions of imposing trees. In the center towered the desolate house, three stories tall with windows like black holes.

Derek and Stiles stopped before the stairs that led up to the porch and straight to the front door. Derek stared up at the top of the structure. His heavy brows were pulled tightly across his forehead.

"This is it?" he asked.

"What do you mean 'this is it?' Isn't it terrifying and fear-inspiring––isn't it just the creepiest place you have ever seen?"

"You remember where I was living before I moved into the loft, right?"

Stiles had completely forgotten about the Hale House. It had been a complete shithole, though he would never say that out loud, but Derek had lived there for like a year or something when he first moved back to Beacon Hills. He had forgotten that creepy, rundown houses in the middle of the woods were something that Derek was actually familiar and comfortable with.

_Dammit_, Stiles thought to himself. Maybe this wouldn't work after all. He refused to give up. He had put too much time and work into this to watch it fall to bits before they even made it into the house.

"Well, it was scarier when I was like thirteen!" Stiles huffed.

Derek was the first of the two to ascend the steps and reach the door. He turned the knob and parted the door slightly. He turned back to Stiles with a devilish smile.

"After you."

Stiles smiled back up at Derek, and followed after him up to the door. Derek held the door open for him as he slid into the dirty interior of the house. Derek closed the door behind both of them. Stiles took out his cell phone and turned on the flashlight app. He swept the light across the dusty floors and up to the hole-filled walls.

"Now what?" Derek asked, looking in all directions, taking the place in.

"You know…we wait for something to happen."

"Like what?"

"I don't know––don't you have any kind of imagination?"

"Not at all," Derek said firmly.

Stiles groaned. "We wait for ghosty-shit to happen. Come on, Derek. You are bringing me down. You're ruining the vibe."

"I'm bringing you down?" Derek laughed. He knew Stiles wasn't being serious. "We are in a house where people were massacred and I'm the one ruining the vibe? Should I be pissing myself because the walls are dusty and supposedly there is a ghost here?"

"Well that would be a nice start," Stiles added hopefully.

As Derek continued to glance around the inside of the house, Stiles crept over to a hole in the wall, making it look like he was also just looking around the place. When Derek was looking away, Stiles put his hand into the crack in the wall and turned on the music player he had prepared.

The playlist started with a series of miscellaneous knocks that came at different pitches and with different echoes to feign sporadic sounds coming from all directions.

When the first knock came, Derek bolted straight up from an old bookcase that had been overturned at some point, probably by some teenagers getting too rowdy.

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what, Derek?"

"Don't screw with me, Stiles."

"I would never," Stiles attempted to sound as innocent and concerned as he possibly could, but he knew Derek would see through him eventually, so when the next knock came, Stiles pretended to jump into the air with shock. "I definitely heard that one."

"See! I think there is something in here with us––and don't even give me any of that ghost crap, Stiles!" Derek blurted out, seeing that Stiles was about to open his mouth to make another claim about the origins of the Murder House.

Now came the wispy voices on the track. What they were actually saying was completely incomprehensible, but the soft, despondent whispers certainly added an effect. Like the knocks, the voices were set to drift in and out, louder and quieter to make it seem like their source was in constant movement.

Stiles had put a lot of time into this whole operation, and he could tell it was starting to get to Derek.

"All right Stiles, you win. Whatever is going on here, I do not want to deal with this shit. Let's just get out of here."

He stepped quickly back to the front door and reached for the doorknob.

An absolutely stunned Derek turned back to Stiles. He held the separated doorknob in his hand. He stared at Stiles in sheer confusion and fear. The terror track continued to play, getting louder and louder while adding in more elements of dread.

Stiles had to do his best not to burst into laughter there and then; this little stunt wasn't over yet.

"I'm breaking the door down!" Derek shouted over the rising voices. "We are getting out of this place now. I have had enough with the supernatural for a lifetime!"

Stiles knew that if he did so, he would never get to see the look on his face when the grand finale came. It was time to bring this little prank to an end. Derek certainly seemed on edge and ready to have a heart attack. Stiles had to bite his lip not to fall to the floor in fits of laughter.

"Hold on, Derek! Do you see that?"

"See what? Stiles! See what?"

Moving swiftly, Stiles swept over to the staircase. "What is that up on the stairs?" And with that, Stiles released the knot that kept his grand finale in place until it was the right time.

Stiles knew it was the right time, as the straw dummy he had prepared earlier that day fell with startling speed from the top of the spiraling staircase, bouncing and swinging as it came to a sudden halt only two feet from the ground and a few more feet away from Stiles and the horrified Derek.

"Holy shit! It's Bloody Sammy!" Derek screamed and threw himself toward Stiles, tackling him down away from the swinging dummy. Stiles gave a slight yelp as Derek's momentum carried him to the floor and slid the two of them across the room over the dusty floor.

Derek's heavy body was crushing Stiles' ribcage. "Derek. Derek! Get off of me!"

Derek stuck his head up like a groundhog checking to see if winter had passed. He craned his neck back toward where the hanging dummy swung like a pendulum back and forth.

"What the hell…" Derek started, his words falling into stunned silence.

"Got you!" Stiles yelled as he pulled himself out from under Derek. "This is for when you and Scott got me!"

"Wait! Wait! Wait! So I help Scott prank you, and instead of you bring Scott here to scare the crap out of him, you bring me? How is that fair?"

"Well I already got Scott back two weeks ago, and besides, he never would have fallen for this." Stiles crossed the room and flipped off the music player in the wall. Derek followed him and looked into the crack to see Stiles pull out the player and wave it in his face.

Together, they walked over to the straw dummy. Stiles had done an impressive job painting a face and dressing the doll in clothing––he even attached a little toy hatchet to one of its hands––though the entire aesthetic was lost on Derek in his frantic fear. Now he admired the details.

"How long did this take you?" he asked.

"A few weeks of prep work and then I set it up this morning," Stiles answered proudly.

Derek was actually impressed. He couldn't decide if he should be a little pissed at Stiles or amazed at all the effort he had gone through for him. He couldn't choose.

"So, are we done now? Am I forgiven?"

"Yes. You are forgiven sour wolf," Stiles chirped and stood on his tiptoes to plant a light kiss on Derek's lips. "But we aren't totally even yet. I expect you to get me back for this in bed tonight."

"Don't you worry about that. You're punishment is gonna be so harsh that Peter will hear it no matter what room he tries to hide in."

"Oh, I'm really scared, big boy."

"You better be," Derek said, pulling Stiles tightly into him. He lifted Stiles' chin with his fingers so he could kiss him long and hard. He pulled Stiles in even tighter as their tongues met; he felt every part of Stiles' slender body pressed against his own.

When he finally pulled away, Derek gave the house one final look. "Can we please get out of here now?"

"Yeah," Stiles answered. "There is a door around back we can use, but first let me go untie Bloody Sammy here. We can lay her properly to rest in the dumpster behind the fast food place."

Derek snickered at this as Stiles started to climb the stairs. Derek leaned back against the banister, following Stiles with his eyes as he stepped higher and higher up the stairs. Derek watched him start to work at the knot he had tied. Finally, Bloody Sammy crashed down to the hard floor.

"Got it," Stiles cheered from high up above. "Be right do––"

But Stiles didn't finish his sentence. From down below, Derek could see that Stiles was turned around staring at something on the upper level that he couldn't see.

"Stiles? Stop screwing around and get down here."

And then suddenly, the banister broke and Stiles tumbled over the edge of the stairs. Derek's heart froze in his chest. At the last moment, Stiles grabbed the edge of the staircase with one hand. He swung back and forth like his Bloody Sammy doll had.

"Stiles!" Derek called. He was already rushing up the stairs, three steps at a time. "Stiles! Hold on!"

"Derek! I can't! I can't hold on much longer! Derek!"

Derek tripped on something he couldn't see as he reached the top floor. He didn't stop to look back, he scrambled over to where he could see Stiles' hand; his knuckles were white with effort.

Derek's hand met Stiles'. Derek gripped hard and reached his other hand over the edge to grab Stiles by the collar of his shirt.

"Derek, be careful. I don't know what happened, and I'm not screwing around this time. Be careful!"

Derek could tell this was no longer a joke. He had never seen Stiles so terrified for his life before. His eyes were wide open and several tears were already running down his cheeks. Derek pulled him up over the ledge with only a little effort.

When he was safely back on solid ground, Derek placed his hands on either side of Stiles' face. "Are you okay?"

Stiles didn't say anything for a moment. He just stared into Derek's eyes. "Yeah. Well––I think I twisted my ankle."

Derek moved to take a look at his ankle, but Stiles stopped him. "Please, Derek, not here. Can we just get the hell out of this place? Now?"

Without another word, Derek picked Stiles up in his arms and cradled him close to his body. Stiles curled himself into Derek's warmth and safety. Stiles pointed out the way to the back door.

When they were outside of the house in the dark forest, which now looked like a safe haven to them, Stiles finally spoke up.

"Hey, Derek?"

"Yeah, Stiles?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Trying to scare you––well not try, because you were totally freaked out, but I'm sorry."

Derek stopped. He looked down at the boy cradled in his arms.

"The scariest part of tonight was seeing you in danger and not knowing if I was going to make it in time." Stiles didn't say anything. "I can't lose you. I don't ever want to lose you."

Stiles didn't say a word, but instead held on tighter to Derek.


End file.
